Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth

In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.

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'All Things Being Equal, Consult Divination'

 

 

It's deep Winter, and the People are hungry. Even the wisest and most experienced hunters can't agree where the herds of caribou might be just now.

So they throw the bones. The bones say: Here.

The hunters go There, and—sure enough—they do find caribou: not as many as hoped for, but enough, at least, to get us through.

 

When it comes to the working principles behind divination, I'm of the Projection-and-the-Human-Penchant-for-Seeing-Patterns School myself. I'm a strong proponent of divination nonetheless.

Why? Because when you've weighed all possible actions and still can't reach a conclusion, divination offers a way out of stalemate. When you don't know where the caribou are, it's better to go out and look than to sit around the fire arguing.

Divination makes a good servant, but a bad master. You're a fool if you let the cards run your life. But when you really can't make up your mind, divination can offer a way out of inaction. My father always says, “It's better to make a decision and act, than to dither and do nothing.” I can't help but agree. As a general rule, taking initiative offers a better chance of survival than passively waiting for someone, or something, else to act on you.

Inaction kills. "Going with the flow" is for Newagers. Witches act. You're more likely to get the result that you want if you act, than if you wait to be acted upon.

So “All things being equal, consult divination” is my motto.

 

The Warlocks of the Driftless are trying to decide when to hold our autumn meeting: the last weekend in September, or the first in October. No one has other obligations on either, or any strong preferences. Warmer would be better, but at that time of year there's no telling which of the two that might be.

Still, we need to get a decision in place sometime soon so that folks can plan accordingly.

Guess it's time to get out the bones.

 

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Poet, scholar and storyteller Steven Posch was raised in the hardwood forests of western Pennsylvania by white-tailed deer. (That's the story, anyway.) He emigrated to Paganistan in 1979 and by sheer dint of personality has become one of Lake Country's foremost men-in-black. He is current keeper of the Minnesota Ooser.

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